


All That Is Ripe

by kiboutozetsubou



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentions of Suicide, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-03-21 00:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3671442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiboutozetsubou/pseuds/kiboutozetsubou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not really that he wants to die—it’s just that this world is too boring for him to live in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is another gift that i never finished, ahaha. but i want to continue it, and i want to contribute to the kamukoma tag since theyre my otp and theres not nearly enough fic of them. 
> 
> obviously this fic deals with some serious issues. ive had personally experience with mental illness, and specifically the kinds that im portraying with these characters, so the last thing im going to do is be insensitive. i guess you can say this is partly an exercise in venting my own experiences and issues. 
> 
> i treat this topic very seriously, and i just want to say that kamukura's views on mental illness/mentally ill people definitely does not reflect my own views. with that in mind i hope everyone enjoys this fic!!!

   _What has become perfect, all that is ripe—wants to die._

\- Friedrich Nietzsche, _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_  

 

They said he was depressed.

He heard it in the solemn tones of the doctor to his frightened parents, and then they shipped him to this place, and now everyone’s smiling too wide and talking about his _condition_ like he’s terminally ill. 

In their minds, maybe he is. They speak to him kindly, in soft quiet tones, as though he’s a mine they’re being careful not to set off. And maybe they’re right to look at him that way—not much has changed since he tried to kill himself a week ago, and if everything in this place wasn’t plastic, he’d try it again eventually.

He isn’t depressed, though. No one seems to understand this, but he doesn’t expect them to. They’re all boring, typical, and of course they assume he’s boring and typical too—they can’t grasp that he might want to die for a reason that doesn’t have to do with feeling sorry for himself.

It’s not really that he wants to die—it’s just that this world is too boring for him to live in. He doesn’t care about any of it and every day seems like a waste. Everyone and everything is mundane and uninteresting; nothing can keep his attention for long enough for him to feel any kind of satisfaction.

Most people found meaning in their lives, but most people were idiots.

The other patients at Kibougamine Psychiatric Institution obviously don’t feel meaning in their lives, assuming that attempted suicide landed them there. But they’re boring nonetheless. They’re all pathetic and scared and miserable.

Izuru Kamukura is not pathetic or scared or miserable. He’s a genius who became bored enough of the world that he decided to try to leave it.

Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful. Fortunately, Kibougamine provides him with a change of scenery, which, for the moment, may entertain him.

At the very least, it’s a break from people asking him why “such a talented young man would want to throw his life away and hurt the people closest to him.” At least the people here understand that he doesn’t care.

The problem is that they think this is a problem. They give him pills, white capsules with small green letters etched onto the side. They give him advice, sweet words and gentle smiles. He doesn’t take the pills or the advice.

Group therapy sessions, however, are compulsory. So he finds himself sitting in a circle once a week listening to other people talk about their issues and try to console one another. It’s boring so he never says anything unless the group counselor coerces him to. No one else bothers to speak to him.

Well, he can’t say no one. No one of importance, but there is someone.

Nagito Komaeda is a frail-looking, neurotic boy with wide hazy eyes. His hair is the color of the walls Kamukura woke up to in the hospital, and his smile is just as blank. No one seems to know exactly what is wrong with him, except that he has an anxiety disorder that manifests itself in the form of acute self-loathing. And no one but Kamukura seems to know that this layer of self-loathing covers a putrid interior like a tarp covering a den of roaches.

Komaeda ended up at Kibougamine after he swallowed half a tub of bleach and stumbled into his college dorm hallway throwing up blood. He tells Kamukura this, completely unprompted, after their third group therapy session together.

“I didn’t ask,” Kamukura replies coldly. He shouldn’t even bother to reply, but he wants to escape that wide-eyed stare.

“Oh, I know,” Komaeda says lightly. “I just felt comfortable telling you. After all, you’re like me. Aren’t you, Kamukura-kun?”

“No,” Kamukura says immediately. “I’m not like you. You’re boring.”

Komaeda nods. “Well, I agree that I’m complete trash compared to you. Maybe it’s a bit presumptuous of me to say, but... I still think, in a way, we are similar. Don’t you?”

He cocks his head quizzically, looking at Kamukura as though he expects him to know the answer. Maybe he should. Kamukura feels a twinge of annoyance—and an infinitesimal stirring of curiosity—at the realization that he really doesn’t know what Komaeda is getting at.

Instead of answering, he turns away. He knows Komaeda will answer his question anyway. He’s only met the boy three times, but he’s easy to read, just like everyone else.

“Haha, you’re really not a people person, are you?”

Kamukura ignores him.

“I don’t blame you, really... why would you want to waste your time with someone like me?”

He keeps ending his sentences with questions so that Kamukura might answer him. It’s annoying, and he doesn’t bite.

“I guess maybe you don’t understand what I’m trying to say,” Komaeda concedes, as though he’s just now realizing this. In reality it seems almost as though he’s smug about knowing something Kamukura doesn’t, which doesn’t make too much sense, considering his low self-esteem. “Well, it seems to me like... deep down, we both really want to live.”

Kamukura shoots him a glare. He doesn’t mean to respond in any way, but the words catch him off guard, and his head whips around automatically.

“I probably don’t deserve to want to live,” Komaeda babbles on, ignoring the cold red eyes boring into him. “I’m sure it’s different for you.”

Kamukura wants to say something, ask him for clarification, tell him he’s wrong—anything, but he doesn’t want to appear interested. So he gets up and walks away, back to his room.

“Ah, alright then. See you tomorrow, Kamukura-kun!”

He doesn’t look back, but he sees Komaeda’s smile all the same. It lingers behind his eyelids as he drifts to sleep that night.

  

 

He dreams of the time, a few weeks ago, when he took a razor and slit long deep lines up his forearms. Except the searing pain doesn’t follow this time, and instead of blood, whiteness pours out of him. White like the clouds. White like the hospital walls. White like— 

He wakes up suddenly, and he’s trembling slightly. Slowly, he brings one forearm up in front of his face. In the darkness he can’t see, but he feels, with his other hand, the long angry scar there.

It’s disgusting.

Abruptly, he drops his arms and stares at the ceiling. He stays awake for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last of what i have written so far. i like this story so i'll probably continue it, but i have commitments to write other things right now so it may take a bit.

The next day, his psychiatrist asks him if he’s had any dreams. He lies and says no. He knows what she’ll say if he tells her.

His psychiatrist takes his frequent silences and curt responses in stride. It’s easy to see that she’s friendly, warm, and compassionate. In an objective sense, she is good at her job, and probably very good at getting patients to open up to her.

Kamukura thinks she’s boring. She’s too nice. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks him.

He shrugs.

“Have you been taking your medication?”

No response.

She clicks her tongue and smiles at him. “I think you should give it a try, just for a couple of weeks. It may not work, but it certainly won’t hurt.” 

He looks away. “Maybe.” 

She seems satisfied with this answer. “So,” she says, grabbing her clipboard and flipping through her notes, “have you been feeling bored all the time lately? Has anything captured your attention?” 

She always asks him this. He knows that when she says “bored” she really means “depressed.” It seems she thinks he will feel better if he finds something to entertain him. As if he hasn’t already tried to find something like that.

“Not really,” he answers. “This place is boring to me. There’s nothing to do.” 

“I think,” his psychiatrist interrupts, tapping her pencil, “that you should focus less on finding _something_  interesting, and more on finding _someone_  interesting.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you.” 

She nods. “I think a lot of your problem, Izuru-kun, is that you don’t try to get to know people. It’s possible that your initial assumptions of them are incorrect. Don’t you think that may be the case?” 

He shrugs again, and she continues, unperturbed. “I could be wrong, but just give it a try. Try to make friends with people here. You’ll be surprised how much forming social bonds will change your perspective on life.” 

He doesn’t usually listen to her advice, and he doesn’t particularly plan to start now. All of the patients here are boring. He’d sooner slice his arms open again than try to engage in a conversation with any of them. 

Well, maybe he could _tolerate_ some of them. But that isn’t to say he enjoys their company at all. Is that what people are supposed to gain from friendships? Enjoyment? 

He doesn’t feel this, but he thinks about his conversation with Komaeda yesterday, and he feels a bit curious. He still doesn’t understand entirely what Komaeda was saying to him, and there is something a bit exciting about not knowing. This isn’t enjoyment, but it’s something. It’s not complete boredom. 

Which is how he finds himself setting next to Komaeda during lunch.

Komaeda stops eating and turns to him, wide-eyed. “Kamukura-kun! I’m surprised you’re bothering to sit next to someone like—”

“Shut up,” Kamukura interrupts, because he really can’t stand Komaeda’s self-deprecation. “I just wanted to talk to you about yesterday.” 

“Oh, okay!” His tone is innocent, but Kamukura can tell he’s completely unsurprised. “What did you want to talk about?” 

Kamukura turns away from him and looks down at his plate. The food here isn’t very good; he could cook something a lot better, himself. But they would never let him do that. Too many sharp objects in the kitchen. 

“You think that we’re the same,” Kamukura says flatly. 

“Ah, I understand if you’re angry, being compared to—”

“I wasn’t done.”

Komaeda falls silent, a beatific smile on his face.

“You think that I don’t really want to die.” He rolls up his sleeve, revealing the ugly scar there. “If that’s true, why would I do this?”

He hates looking at his scars and always makes it a point to wear long sleeves. But he does enjoy the look of horror that comes across people’s faces when he shows them to them. It’s better than what he’s used to, being looked at with such distant, mindless awe and admiration. 

Komaeda, however, doesn’t look horrified. Without giving the scar much of a glance, he nods. “It’s true that we both tried to kill ourselves, Kamukura-kun, but think about what happened _after_ that. In both of our cases, something extraordinary happened.” 

Kamukura rolls down his sleeve, looking at Komaeda pensively. It’s been a while since he’d been presented with an situation where he had to really think, and he enjoys it, however minutely. 

“We didn’t die,” he answers, after a minute of silence.

Komaeda’s eyes light up. “Exactly! Don’t you think that’s incredible, Kamukura-kun?” 

He stays silent, waiting.

“At first I just brushed it off as another failure,” Komaeda continues, throwing his arms out. “A piece of trash like me, I can’t do anything right, why would a suicide attempt be any different? But then I thought—I’ve always been kind of lucky. And maybe that’s the reason why I survived. But—”

“If it had been luck, you would have had to wish for your survival,” Kamukura finishes for him. “Is that all? That’s boring.” 

“Is it?” Komaeda looks a bit sheepish, but he continues. “Anyway, I just figured—you’re so good at everything, Kamukura-kun. Why wouldn’t you be able to kill yourself if you set your mind to it? You’ve never failed at anything before that, have you?” 

Kamukura clenches his jaw but says nothing. 

“But then, if you’re good at everything, you’re probably pretty lucky too, right? You didn’t _really_ want to die, did you?” 

“And what makes you think that?” Kamukura asks with a monotone. “What reason would I have to want to live?” 

“Well...” Komaeda taps his chin, looking thoughtful. “This is just a guess, and coming from me, it probably isn’t very good, but—I think maybe you wanted to seem as though you failed because you wanted to fail at something. Maybe you wanted to disillusion the people who think you’re perfect at everything. Your parents, perhaps?” 

Kamukura’s face feels hot with an emotion he hasn’t felt in a long time. Not a twinge of annoyance or boredom, but simmering anger and frustration. Komaeda’s smile seems more provocative than ever, a mocking Cheshire grin. 

Clenching his fists, he stands abruptly and begins to walk away.

“Kamukura-kun, where—”

“Not just my parents,” Kamukura cuts in dully, stopping in his tracks for a moment. “Everyone.” 

Then he leaves, and he swears he can hear quiet, wheezing laughter behind him. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol is it obvious enough that i thought a lot about this fic whenever i would read things for my existentialism class???

He dreams again that night. He can’t remember anything, but when he wakes he’s shaking and a sheen of sweat covers his skin. 

He doesn’t tell his therapist about this, of course.

“How are you feeling?” she asks him.

Silence.

“Have you tried to make friends?”

He turns to look out the window. It’s a beautiful day outside. Not that that means anything to him. The clouds remind him of someone, someone who he can’t count as  friend, but who is definitely _something._

He doesn’t trust him, or particularly like him, but he is a bit intrigued. He’s mulled over his anger enough to realize the root of it. He was angry at Komaeda because he was right.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” his therapist asks, breaking into his thoughts.

He turns to her. Every time she’s asked this question before, it has been met with silence. He can see that she expects this time will be no different, but hopes that it will be.

Hope is a ridiculous, pointless emotion. He’d hate to indulge it, but—

“What would you say if I told you I didn’t really want to die?”

The question bursts from his lips before he can stop it. He’s been thinking about this every since his infuriating encounter with Komaeda yesterday. Maybe hearing someone else’s insight will bring clarity to the matter, or maybe not. He’s curious.

His therapist purses her lips, studying him. “I’d say that makes sense,” she concludes. “Hardly anyone ever does. Do you want to die, Izuru-kun?”

“Many people want to die. This facility is full of them,” he argues.

She’s silent for a moment, then leans forward, fixing him with a more serious look than he’s ever seen her express. “I don’t know if this is going to help, but in my professional opinion, a person rarely ever legitimately wants to die. Suicidal tendencies are a symptom of mental illness. Illness causes people to think and do things that that wouldn’t otherwise do. In other words, it’s not natural.”

“I’m not mentally ill,” he says flatly. “What I did was just... logical.”

“Was that all it was?” 

He falls silent.

“Please think over what I’ve said about reaching out,” his therapist continues, and she smiles, breaking the tension that had fallen over the conversation. “I think talking to others will help you understand more about yourself, Izuru-kun. I really do.” 

Wordlessly he leaves. He doesn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the day.

 

 

He doesn’t speak at all, until the next day when he walks into the recreation room and sees Komaeda reading a book.

He stops and watches him. Part of him wants to walk away. He’s still a bit irritated by their last conversation. But another part of him wants entertainment, as it always has, and Komaeda at the very least promises that.

He’s saved from making a decision when Komaeda glances up and spots him. “Ah, Kamukura-kun,” he says cheerily. “Good afternoon! How are you today?” 

Silently Kamukura sits down next to him. He can’t think of anything to say, so he settles for a halfhearted shrug.

Komaeda closes his book and rests it on his lap. Kamukura can’t help but glance down at it, as he’s always been an avid reader himself. The cover reads _Th_ _e Myth of Sisyphus_. 

“This book reminds me of you,” Komaeda says. “So it’s funny that you came along, because I was just thinking of you.” 

Kamukura tips his head to the side, eyes still fixated on the book. “When faced with the futility of life and death, what do we do?” he wonders aloud. “Camus says we should live. I chose the opposite. Which of us is right?” 

“Ah, so you’ve read it.” Komaeda grins, but he doesn’t look surprised. “But Kamukura-kun—you didn’t choose death, remember? You rebelled against life, but you didn’t die. You don’t really want to.” 

Kamukura still feels a bit irked at Komaeda’s tendency to tell him what he himself is thinking. But emotions are unnecessary, so he doesn’t show his anger. And besides—Komaeda might be irritating, but he was usually onto something. 

“And what if I didn’t want to die?” Kamukura asks, dully. “What would that mean for me?”

Komaeda smiles and looks down at the book in his lap, as though to try to hide it. “Camus might say you were a hero.” 

“I don’t care. What would you say?” And the realization that he actually cares what Komaeda thinks is a bit jarring, but he decides to ignore it for now.

It’s quiet for a few moments. Komaeda also seems surprised that Kamukura asked for his opinion. His eyes cast about thoughtfully. They finally settle on Kamukura’s face. “I would say that you should live, because you’re a person who deserves to live.” 

“Because of my talents?” 

“Yes.”

Kamukura feels a wave of disgust and gets up to leave.

“You’re running from them, aren’t you?” Komaeda’s words give him pause. He stands, waiting, and Komaeda continues. “Because that’s all people see when they look at you. But it’s all you see when you look at yourself, too. How can they help but define you by your talents when /you/ define /yourself/ by them?” 

Kamukura turns and looks at Komaeda with a cold look that would and has caused most people to flinch. Komaeda just smiles, albeit a bit nervously. 

“You irritate me,” Kamukura blurts out. “I’m rarely angry, but your words make me angry.” 

“Ah, I’m sorry for that.” He appears remorseful, not that Kamukura buys into that for a second. “It must be really bothersome being pestered by me. Honestly, I just want to help you, Kamukura-kun.” 

“Why?” Kamukura asks. “You should worry about yourself.” 

Komaeda shakes his head. “As I said, you are a person who deserves to live. I’m not. I wouldn’t bother worrying over my own trivial existence.” 

Kamukura is quiet for some time, mulling over Komaeda’s words. Then he sits down again beside Komaeda. Komaeda looks a bit surprised, but says nothing. His fidgety movements give away his discomfort. Ignoring this, Kamukura gazes down at the weathered cover of the book in his lap. 

“I’m tired of your conjectures about me,” Kamukura finally says, quite bluntly. “Whether you’re right or wrong, it’s irritating.”

“And why is that?” Komaeda is looking at him sincerely, but Kamukura can see the hidden smile threatening to take over his lips. He already knows why, but he won’t say it, because that will only annoy Kamukura even more. 

“Because I hate being treated like that. Like a project,” Kamukura admits. 

It’s only obvious, and yet he’s never admitted it out loud to anyone before. 

Komaeda nods, looking down. “I understand, Kamukura-kun. The thing is, I’d like to help you—”

“I know,” Kamukura interrupts. “But for now, you’ve done enough. You owe me one, so tell me about yourself instead.” 

Komaeda looks a bit stricken for the first time. It satisfies Kamukura, but not in a sadistic way. He’s just glad he’s not the only one who can be picked apart. 

“I don’t know why you’d want to know about someone like me...” Komaeda tries.

“Call it entertainment,” Kamukura says dismissively. “It shouldn’t be hard. You were able to work out why I might want to live. So now tell me why you want to.” 

There’s a bit of a commotion, and a few more patients file into the recreation room. None of them pay either of them any mind, but Kamukura knows Komaeda won’t say anything unless they’re alone. He’s mildly surprised to find that he’s disappointed. 

“Time’s up, Kamukura-kun,” Komaeda says teasingly. His tone is lighthearted, no trace of the nervousness it held a minute ago. He gets up, book in hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Kamukura watches him go. He really is lucky, to have such a convenient break, he thinks. His lips twitch, beginning to form an unfamiliar shape. When he works out that he’s about to smile, he stands and stalks abruptly back to his room, a hand clasped around his mouth as though concealing a secret. 


	4. Chapter 4

He feels empty. Not in any way he’s felt before. He never normally feels much—not emotion, or passion. But he would describe that as a lack of feeling. This, however, _is_  a feeling—a feeling of hollowness, like there used to be something important that was carved out. 

He wonders if it counts as feeling sad. He doesn’t really know what it means to feel sorrow, or grief, although he understands the concept. But this feeling doesn’t seem to correspond with what he understands to be sadness. And it doesn’t have the right context. There is nothing for him to be sad over; he’s lying in bed, listening to the deafening silence of the night, eyes searching for the ceiling in the overwhelming darkness.

If he feels he is missing something, then what is he missing? If it is gone it must have been gone a while ago, or maybe he never had it at all. He hasn’t lost anything recently. If he feels this way, it must be because he’s becoming aware of what he doesn’t have. 

He shakes his head. The shifting of his hair scratching the pillow makes a scraping sound against his ears. His thoughts are running rampantly, but he doesn’t quite understand even what he himself is getting at. Perhaps too many nearly-sleepless nights are starting to have a physiological effect. 

This sensation of emptiness is not entirely foreign to him. It reminds him of the sensation that led him, initially, to slice open his own wrists. The feeling of purposelessness. 

Because there was something there, sentiment, behind his motivations to kill himself—as much as he wishes it wasn’t, that it was purely logical. He didn’t just _know_ that he had no direction, no purpose in life—he really _felt_  it, in his core, in that moment. And he feels something like that now, an aching, and his fingers twitch with the desire to do something to stop it. 

One of his hands traces the scar on his other arm. If he could hurt himself, again, would that take away this feeling? It doesn’t seem to make sense, and yet the possibility pops into his head, anyway, and sits there ominously. He digs his nails into his arm, pinching the raw skin. 

But no, logically, that would solve nothing. Better to just ignore it and try to sleep. With a sigh, he relaxes his hand at his side. His skin burns where he pinched it. It feels a bit satisfying, in a strange way. Better to ignore that, too. 

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Runs through deep breathing exercises in his head. If he’s lucky, he might be able to get a bit of sleep tonight. If he’s _lucky_ , he thinks, and almost smiles again.

 

 

He doesn’t talk to Komaeda at all for the next week. Komaeda appears to be avoiding him, and he’s not going to go out of his way to seek him out. As a consequence, he hardly speaks at all for the next week. He doesn’t realize exactly how little human contact he had until he lost the only person he ever really conversed with.

It’s boring.

But he doesn’t want to talk to just anyone. That would be boring, too. Even if he were willing to give them a shot, as his therapist suggested, practically all of the other patients are wary of him. It was possible that they sensed his harsh indifference and unfriendliness toward him. He supposed that kind of thing would put people off of a friendship, although it didn’t stop Komaeda from first approaching him.

Which is why he likes talking to Komaeda, because he’s different from them. It might not be in a good way—in a way he thinks Komaeda is the worst of them all, the one with the most poisonous mind. The others avoid him too, Kamukura notices. They’re frightened of him. Even the nurses are, although they hide it well.

Kamukura is an expert at human emotion and human nature. He’s an expert at reading it, anyway; expressing it is something different. He can tell what kind of person someone is almost immediately. It’s part of why other people are so boring to him. What’s the point of “getting to know” them if you already instantly do?

With Komaeda, he understood his toxic, unstable nature immediately. He sensed his anxiety, his self-loathing, his desperation to both connect to others and close himself off from them. He sensed the fear and caution beneath his friendly smile. He sensed that this person was broken and unhinged, and probably didn’t even know it.

But he doesn’t really know the how or why, and if Komaeda is going to be invasive and pick his issues apart, he can only return the favor.

“I’ve heard from other staff members that you’ve been spending a bit of time with Nagito Komaeda,” his therapist says to him one day. When he really thinks about it, she’s the only other person he really talks to, and even that is sparingly.

Kamukura shrugs. “He’s somewhat interesting.” 

She smiles at him, although it’s not a happy one. “I don’t know if that’s the word I would use to describe him, but I’m glad you found someone you could spend your time with.”

He tilts his head and looks at her. She seems a bit unnerved by his gaze, possibly because he never really turns it upon her for too long. She’s not interesting enough to really observe. 

“You don’t sound glad,” he says monotonously.

She leans back in her chair, eyes searching the ceiling. “Nagito Komaeda is... well... I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t rather you pick another friend. He’s a nice boy, but he has his issues. Of course, all of the patients here do, but...” She pauses. “He’s a bit... As a friend, he’s high-maintenance for you.”

He nods in comprehension. “You think we’re no good for each other because you think we’re both messed up.”

“You’re not messed up,” she argues gently. “I don’t think that. I think you both have deep-rooted issues that you need to work through, and I worry being around each other might worsen them for the both of you. It would be better if you were around someone with more positive energy.”

It’s not exactly true that Komaeda doesn’t have positive energy. But he says nothing. 

“But I won’t complain,” she continues. “I’m still glad that you have someone to talk to.”

“He makes me think,” Kamukura says suddenly. “About why I’m here. I thought I had my own issues figured out, but maybe there’s more to them than I thought. He’s frustrating, but insightful and intelligent. I enjoy talking with him.” He isn’t sure why he’s saying any of this, but for some reason he wants to show her that Komaeda isn’t as bad of an influence as she thinks. As though it matters what she thinks about it. 

And he realizes as he says it that despite everything, he does like talking with Komaeda, and has missed it for the past week. 

She blinks at him, surprised, her hand going for her previously forgotten clipboard. “That’s good, then. I’m glad to see you took my advice. I hope you can better understand the extent of your own issues.”

He falls silent again, looking down at himself. He already feels a bit of regret for spilling what he just said—he hadn’t even been fully aware, himself, that he was doubting his own condition, until the words were out of his mouth. And his admission that Komaeda was helping him figure these things out—he hadn’t really thought of that until now, either, although it was true. 

Maybe it bothers him a bit to admit it, but nevertheless, it is true. It makes him wonder what else is true but that he refused to admit, just because he didn’t like it. 

“So do I,” he says to her, and he means it. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The next time he sees Komaeda is at their mandatory counseling session. They all sit in a circle and tell the counselor about their week, how they’ve been doing. Kamukura never liked to participate unless he was forced to. Komaeda never really did, either, but he was an active listener in other people’s problems, often offering “advice” that tended to just make the other patients uneasy.

This time Komaeda is silent as the other patients talk, wearing a polite smile the entire time. Kamukura watches him, ignoring the other patients and the counselor altogether. 

“Komaeda-kun,” the counselor says to Komaeda, once it is his turn. He sounds a bit wary. “Would you like to tell us how you’ve been doing?” 

“I’ve been doing great,” Komaeda responds immediately, smile never wavering. “Not that it really matters how _I’m_ doing.” 

“It does matter,” the counselor argues gently. “Have you still been feeling this way a lot?” 

Komaeda shakes his head. “It’s not really how I _feel,_ ” he says, sounding as though he were teaching something important. “It’s just how it is. I always feel fine! I’m not upset about how worthless I am, I just accept it.” 

Some of the other patients shift, visibly uncomfortable by Komaeda’s words. He typically always has this effect on them. Honestly Kamukura wonders why it even still bothers them. 

Although as he thinks this, he also realizes that it’s starting to bother him, as well. Not that he’s uncomfortable, but... he wishes Komaeda wouldn’t say the things he does about himself. 

He tunes out the counselor’s words as he tries, likely in vain, to convince Komaeda that he’s not worthless, and thinks over his own feelings. He decides that he should tell Komaeda that he thinks he is worth more than what he says about himself. He doesn’t know if it will do any good, but for some reason, he’s willing to try. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve taken up too much of your time,” Komaeda says at one point. His voice sounds a bit strained; he seems uncomfortable with the counselor’s efforts to make him change his opinion of himself. “You still haven’t talked to Kamukura-kun yet.”

Kamukura feels a jolt of surprise as his name is mentioned, not that he visibly shows this. 

The counselor looks unsure, but eventually sighs and turns his attention to Kamukura. “How have you been this week, Kamukura-kun?” 

His mood is soured. Listening to Komaeda talk like that leaves him feeling annoyed. 

Still, as much as he would like to, he knows he can’t get away with not saying anything. 

“I’ve been fine,” he says. He can’t tell if it’s a lie or not. 

“Is there anything you’d like to share with us?” the counselor asks. 

Normally he just says no, but he actually thinks about it for a minute. Is there anything he’d like to say? He doesn’t care about any of them to tell them anything about himself, but he hasn’t talked to Komaeda in a while—he might not have a chance after this, either. 

“I feel...better,” he says, carefully. “Most of the time, I don’t feel as though I want to die anymore.”

The counselor smiles gently. Kamukura doesn’t really take note of it, instead searching for Komaeda’s reaction. He doesn’t give him much of one, though; his face doesn’t change from his polite mask. 

“That’s wonderful news,” the counselor says. “I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps your medication is starting to kick in.” 

Kamukura only started taking his medication two days ago, but he doesn’t say this. 

“Maybe,” he says instead. 

He doesn’t want to say anything else, not in front of all these people. But he hopes that he’s said enough to get some sort of message across to Komaeda. He thinks that Komaeda would like to hear this, that he’s _right_ about Kamukura. 

It’s strange, though. Maybe deep down he didn’t want to die, but he thought that he did. He only started actively wanting to live _after_ talking to Komaeda. 

Well, he’s entertained by him, for now. It’ll probably pass like it always does. 

He knows this, but he doesn’t feel it. Instead he feels the sickening-sweet feeling of _hope_ , of promise for a future, one where he doesn’t lay awake staring into darkness with a gaping hole in his chest. 

The session is brought to a close and he doesn’t pay attention to the rest of it. Everyone gets up to leave. Komaeda turns to look at him, and his smile stretches into something more genuine. 

Kamukura feels _something_ stir in his chest, but he couldn’t begin to guess what it is. 

 

 

“I started taking my medication,” he tells Komaeda later. They’re in the recreation room again, this time sitting on either side of the chess table. There are a few other patients there, but none within earshot. 

Komaeda’s fingers are playing with a chess piece, the white rook. He hums noncommittally, not looking up. 

Kamukura purses his lips. “You don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

Bright eyes blink up at him and they look vaguely amused. “I don’t think it’s a _bad_ idea,” Komaeda counters. “I just don’t imagine how someone like you would need it, Kamukura-kun. You’re amazing enough to help _yourself_ get better, in any way you need to.” 

“Get better,” Kamukura echoes. “Do you think I need to get better?” 

He says it with no hostility but he still sees Komaeda cringe, ever so slightly. “It’s a bit presumptuous of me, isn’t it? I just think that you... you should understand how much you’re worth. For whatever reason, you don’t now. If you did, that would make you better.” 

It’s actually refreshing to hear him say this, since Kamukura has become accustomed to Komaeda only praising his worth. Saying that he’s flawed and needs to improve is something new. He can see why Komaeda would hesitate to say it, but appreciates that he said it nonetheless. 

“I agree,” he says. “When I first came here, I thought it was a ridiculous notion...but now I think I can understand the sentiment. Maybe there is something wrong with me.”

It pains him even to admit this, but for some reason he wants Komaeda to know. He isn’t sure what brought on this revelation. When he thinks about it, he briefly flashes back to that nearly-sleepless night he had, staring into the dark and feeling cold and hollow. And he thinks of Komaeda’s teasing smile, the perceptive glint in his eyes as he explains Kamukura’s own actions to him.

It was these things that he thought of when he first tipped his head back ad swallowed the pill, two days ago. 

Komaeda says nothing for a long time, seemingly lost in thought. Kamukura looks down at the chess board. 

“Do you want to play?” Kamukura asks.

A self-deprecating smile spreads across Komaeda’s face. He holds his hands up in a placating gesture, eager to turn down the offer. “Ah, I don’t think so. I know I’d be no good at it. I just like the idea of it, really. That’s the only reason I sat here.”

Kamukura cocks his head. He doesn’t really understand, but he’s not going to question it.

Instead he asks another question, one he’s been meaning to ask for a week. “Won’t you tell me about yourself, then?” 

Komaeda starts, looking surprised. “Oh, we _did_ talk about that last time, didn’t we?” 

“Yes, we did.” Kamukura knows that he didn’t really forget.

An uncomfortable silence stretches on. At length, Komaeda places the chess piece gently down on the board and looks up. “Then, would you like to hear a story, Kamukura-kun?” 

He shrugs. 

“I’ll try not to make it boring,” Komaeda says, his voice tight. “But it’s not a very interesting story. It’s just about a boy who was born with no worth or talent. The only thing he ever had in life was a penchant for good luck, but even this was countered with an equal penchant for bad luck. Extraordinary things could happen to this quite ordinary boy, but they would always be followed by devastating things.” 

He stops for a moment. His face and eyes are turned toward Kamukura, but he’s not really looking at him. His mind appears to be somewhere else. 

“This worthless boy lost everything he ever held dear,” he continues. “Or rather, I should say, everyone. His good luck could bring in things such as fame and fortune, but none of this measured up to the people in his life that he lost. Money, material things—they aren’t any sort of substitute for—for love.” 

Komaeda looks down, as though embarrassed by this admission. Perhaps he finds the topic of love to be quite foreign; Kamukura does as well, but he understands the sentiment. 

“Could you even say he was lucky at all, then?” Kamukura asks. “Since his good luck never equalled his bad luck.” 

“Hm...” Komaeda looks up and smiles, and it’s strained. “You could certainly say that. But for a long time, he didn’t think of it that way. His good luck was all he had, you see. So he learned that no matter what happened, he could always _hope_ for it. And hope is a very powerful thing.” 

Kamukura is quiet, letting this sink in. “It’s more powerful than the despair of loss, then.” 

Unexpectedly, Komaeda’s smile drops and his eyes narrow, flaring with indignation. “Of course it is. Hope is the ultimate good. Despair can never dream of matching it. I would think you, being a symbol of hope, with all of your amazing talents, would understand this.” 

Kamukura can’t bring himself to say anything, a bit shocked by Komaeda’s sudden anger. He can’t think of a time he’s ever seen Komaeda angry up until now.

He doesn’t really understand the correlation between hope and talent, but he says nothing, waiting for Komaeda to continue his story.

“Hm, where was I?” Komaeda says, still sounding a bit tense. “Ah, well, there isn’t really much left of the story. The boy had nothing but luck and hope; he destroyed everything else. And so he knew he was worthless, that he could never love. He accepted this, because he knew he could never despair. However...” 

He trails off. Kamukura waits, surprised to find that he is fully interested and attentive. 

“Maybe...” Komaeda’s eyes are bright and serious, the most intense Kamukura has ever seen him. “Maybe he wanted to die, because that would be preferable to living in fear of what his cursed luck could do. Living in fear of losing anything close to him... it would be easier to end his meaningless existence, wouldn’t it?”

Kamukura is silent for quite a long time. His eyes as cast down, and he can feel Komaeda’s bright gaze burning into him. He feels an empty ache in his chest. He’s not sure what it is or what it means. 

“Giving up like that,” he says carefully, after minutes of silence, “sounds an awful lot like despair to me.” 

Komaeda tenses. When Kamukura glances up at him, his gaze is hardened and his brow is pinched together. He’s never seen him look so cold and angry before. But he understands, because he knew all along that the smile Komaeda wears every day is a facade for something much darker. 

“What was it Camus would say?” Kamukura muses, referencing back to their discussion of the book Komaeda was reading. “All existence is meaningless. But to give up and end one’s life—that is to give in to despair.”

Komaeda’s mouth twists like he’s trying to muster up a smile. He manages a grimace. “That’s one way of looking at it. But of course, he doesn’t believe in hope, either. And without hope—isn’t a hopeless existence one of despair, at any rate?” 

“I don’t think so,” Kamukura says, although he’s unsure how he really feels about the subject. He just wants to prove Komaeda wrong. “It’s possible to have neither, and probably necessary. Hope and despair can be equally destructive.” 

The chess table rattles dangerously as Komaeda stands up suddenly. Kamukura looks up at him passively. His expression is one of furious indignation. 

Kamukura can’t help but feel a bit pleased that he’s been able to shatter this strange boy’s impersonally polite mask. It’s only fair, after all, considering what he managed to do to him. 

“When you say that to commit suicide is to give into despair, I might be able to accept that,” Komaeda says tersely. “But I won’t accept the idea that hope is destructive at all, let alone _as bad as_ something like despair.” 

It might be a bit confusing to another person why Komaeda was suddenly reacting this way, but thanks to Komaeda’s story, Kamukura feels as though he understands. 

The boy had nothing but luck and hope, and so he believed in it with all of his being. 

Everyone needs something to hold onto, when they have nothing left. 

And Kamukura—

What does he have?

“I have to go,” Komaeda cuts into his thoughts curtly. “I’ll see you around, Kamukura-kun.” 

He whisks away before Kamukura can say a word. Not that there’s anything for him to say. He watches Komaeda’s form retreat from the room. Sighing, he looks back to the chess board. 

The white rook lays sadly on its side. Kamukura carefully picks it up and rights it. 

He still has some more things to think about. 


End file.
